


when you're the best of friends

by callunavulgari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Hale-McCall Pack, M/M, Multi, Pack Orgies, Polyamory, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, hey, no,” Stiles cuts in sharply, finally raising her head to glare at Erica. “You are not my Jiminy Cricket. You’re here to make sure I don’t back out like a total pussy and end up with like, half of a tattoo that I’ll never be able to fix. You’re here because I trust you to do what’s best for me, and maybe give me a phenomenal orgasm while I’m riding my adrenaline high later, capiche?”</p><p>Erica gives her a long, searching look. She must like whatever she finds, because it’s only a moment or so before she nods and hums. “Who are we inviting to the orgasm party, then?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you're the best of friends

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this happened. This started as a poly Erica/Stiles/Derek something and ended with discussions of pack-wide polygamy and who Erica and Stiles felt like having orgasms with that night. Seriously. Absolutely no idea. I'm not tagging for all the pairings because that'll just turn into a clusterfuck, but there are outright mentions of Stiles/Erica/Boyd, Stiles/Isaac, Stiles/Scott/Allison/Erica, Stiles/Kira, and Erica/Stiles/Allison/Lydia. Basically this is the fic where everyone is sleeping together and nothing hurts. The only romantic and sexual pairings mentioned are Erica/Boyd and Stiles/Derek, but you're free to decide anything other than that.
> 
> The prompt for today was Erica/Stiles - tattoos. You can see how much it spiraled out of control.
> 
> Oh, and in case it isn't obvious, in addition to everyone sleeping together, no one is dead and Derek and Scott are some kind of co-alphas of the Hale-McCall pack.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Stiles whispers, voice muffled into the cage of her arms. The room smells like ink and antiseptic and blood. She doesn’t like it one fucking bit. Keeping her eyes closed and arms pushed up against them to block out the light is helping, but not by much.  
  
Next to her, Erica snorts. “Sure you can, princess.”  
  
Stiles groans, shifting so that her thighs aren’t pressed so uncomfortably against the back of the chair she’s straddling. “Can _not_.” She pauses and breathes deeply through her nose to stave off the panic attack she can feel simmering away just beneath her skin. Once she's calm again, she adds, “And don’t call me that.”  
  
“Why not? You’re kind of acting like a princess right now.”  
  
Stiles hisses. “I don’t like needles.”  
  
Erica pats her bare shoulder, half condescending, half reassuring, and purrs, “There there, sweet flower. That’s why you’ve got your very own werewolf pain drain here with you. I'm _all_ yours.”  
  
“Ugh,” Stiles moans, with feeling. “Why didn’t I just suck it up and ask Scott?”  
  
“Because he would have asked if you were sure about this a dozen times over until you inevitably chickened out?”  
  
Right. That _was_ why.  
  
The hand that’s still on Stiles' shoulder gentles, running a careful thumb up the swooping curve of her neck. Erica’s hair brushes against her collarbone as she leans closer, pressing a sweet kiss to Stiles' sweaty brow.  
  
“Hey,” Erica murmurs. “If you don’t want to do this…”  
  
“Hey, hey, no,” Stiles cuts in sharply, finally raising her head to glare at Erica. The first burst of fluorescent light to her eyeballs _burns_. “You are not my Jiminy Cricket. You’re here because I trust you to let me make a bad decision without giving me shit about it—”  
  
“And the pain thing.”  
  
“And that, yes,” Stiles agrees crossly. “But more importantly, you’re here to make sure I don’t back out like a total pussy and end up with like, half of a tattoo that I’ll never be able to fix. You’re here because I trust you to do what’s best for me, and maybe give me a phenomenal orgasm while I’m riding my adrenaline high later, capiche?”  
  
Erica gives her a long, searching look. She must like whatever she finds, because it’s only a moment or so before she nods and hums. “Who are we inviting to the orgasm party, then?”  
  
“Not Derek,” Stiles rushes to say, blushing furiously when Erica smirks. Stiles scrunches her nose up. “Don’t look so smug, I just don’t want him to see the tattoo until it heals.”  
  
“Boyd?” Erica asks, fluttering her eyelashes.  
  
Stiles glares at her. “If I can’t have my boyfriend, you’re not allowed to bring yours.”  
  
Even if the sex would be phenomenal. God. Those arms. Those thighs. Stiles has had exactly one orgasm that Boyd was directly responsible for and it’s _still_ giving her aftershocks.  
  
Erica hums again, examining her reflection in the giant wall of mirror behind Stiles. She wipes at a smudge of lipstick. “Isaac then?”  
  
Stiles considers it. She and Isaac have a relationship based almost exclusively on biting sarcasm and their love of Scott. Theirs is a vicious friendship, and that translates to absolutely _brutal_ fucks in the bedroom. It’s good, great really, but after this, she’s not sure if she really wants more pain, even if it would be exquisite.  
  
“Nah.” Stiles shakes her head, grimacing. “The last time we fucked I had road rash for a week and a half.”  
  
Erica blinks at her, suddenly delighted. “You did it in the road? You _minx_!”  
  
“Trust me, it wasn’t as great as whatever you’re thinking.”  
  
It _was_ pretty hot though. They’d started in the jeep and when Stiles had grasped the door handle on accident and ended up half out of the car, he’d fucked her all the way through, not caring one bit that her chin was pressed to the asphalt, ass in the air for all who cared to see.  
  
But seriously, road rash on your chin and bruised ribs from spending too long dangling over the edge of the seat wasn’t fun.  
  
“Spoilsport,” Erica hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just us, then?”  
  
Stiles smirks. She wouldn’t mind it, but judging by the faintly disappointed gleam in Erica’s eyes, she’d been hoping for something a little more interesting.  
  
“Text Allison,” she answers decisively, giving Erica a sharp smile in response to her shocked look. She shrugs. “I know you’ve been itching to try each other out, and I’m totally willing to be the filling of a very aggressive werewolf-hunter sandwich.”  
  
“She might be with Scott,” Erica whispers, eyes darting up when the tattoo guy comes back into the room, brandishing whatever the hell he’d gone to search for.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “So? Just because I don’t want to touch his dick doesn’t mean I'd mind watching him eat you out.”  
  
Tattoo guy fumbles whatever he’s holding, and backs out the door again, throwing some excuse over his shoulder as he goes. At this rate, she’s never going to get her tattoo.  
  
“God,” Erica whispers, yanking her phone out in stilted, jerky motions. Her hands are shaking and she’s chewing on her lip with an absentminded focus that Stiles is more than familiar with. She's totally excited. “You have the weirdest hangups when it comes to him.”  
  
Stiles shrugs. “He’s my best bro. I have nothing but platonic feelings for him.”  
  
“Platonic,” Erica snorts, tapping away at the phone, her shiny red nails making clicking sounds every time they collide with the screen. “I’d believe that if I hadn’t seen you fuck your way through the majority of your _platonic_ relationships, myself included.”  
  
Stiles wiggles her eyebrows. “That’s different and you fucking know it.”  
  
“Fine.” Erica drops the phone onto the table next to her. “It’s done. Allison’s going to meet us at the house in two hours.”  
  
“Scott coming?”  
  
Erica shakes her head, curls bouncing. She grins, sharp and wolfish. “Nope. _Lydia_.”  
  
“Fucking score!” Stiles whoops. “You know what this means? We totally won the sex lottery today.”  
  
“No, winning that would be having _everyone_ in the same room.” Erica licks her lips, eyes glassy and unfocused. She looks like she’s going to start drooling any second now. “God, I have the _wildest_ dreams about the day we finally pull that one off.”  
  
Stiles hums, thinking about the look of complete and utter bliss Derek had given her this morning, his nose pressed to the stretch of skin that Kira had so painstakingly marked the night before. It’s a little weird, maybe, how much he gets off on the scent of other people on her, but it works for them. It works for their _pack_ _._  
  
“It’s only a matter of time now,” she remarks with a sly grin as tattoo guy comes back into the room, a stencil of the Hale triskelion in his hands that matches the one that's peeking out over the edge of Erica's bra. The one that _every_ member of their pack has now. Stiles is the last one, the last key to the puzzle.

She shivers when the tattoo gun buzzes to life behind her.

Not long of a wait at all.  



End file.
